


forwards, forwards

by deltachye



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Post-Altissia (Final Fantasy XV) Spoilers, Reader-Insert, guess who got to this part and cried her eyes out for hours and developed heartburn !!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x ignis scientia]You struggle to pick up the pieces after Ignis' loss.
Relationships: Ignis Scientia/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	forwards, forwards

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this out in a tear-blurred daze in a couple of hours immediately following the altissia chapter. going back to the past w umbra and seeing everything "okay again" hurts me. turning around to see if he's there but he's fallen over or i can't see him bcs he's fallen behind hurts me. hearing the guilt, the pain, the self-loathing in his voice... oh lawd i'm not even done this game yet.

“You need to get off Iggy’s back.”

You weren’t sure why Gladio had called you out here when he had, but the words were making you scowl before you even fully registered what he was saying. You hugged your non-broken arm around yourself protectively and levelled him with a glare.

“What?”

“You’re smothering him. He’s too nice of a guy to say anything, but you gotta lay off the pity and shit.”

“I’m not _pitying_ him!” you snapped. “I’m just taking care of him while he recovers.”

“Just because he can’t _see_ you anymore doesn’t mean he can’t tell, [Name].” Gladio leant back against the railing, sighing deeply as he slipped his hands into his pockets. With this opened stance, the rough tissue of his new scar looked like it was made of light, tortured and raw. Your eyes caught on it. Were any of the guys the same as the ones you’d left the Crown City with, anymore? You flinched with the calmness he delivered reality, hating how easily he could spit it out like it meant nothing at all.

“What do you want me to do?” you breathed, voice choked and weakened with grief. You bundled your hand into a pathetically weak fist, staring down at your sling. “What _can_ I do?”

“That’s not a question you should be asking me. But a man’s got pride. Babying him is just going to make everything worse.”

“Hey—”

You stopped him before he could walk off. He turned back over his shoulder, but you were staring down at the cobblestone, watching droplets fall to darken them in polka-dotted patterns despite the perfectly sunny day.

“What should I do, Gladio?”

“I already said. I can’t tell you that.”

He walked towards you and clapped his huge, heavy hand onto your good shoulder. You winced at the touch but allowed him to steady you on your feet. When you looked up, his brown eyes were kind.

“But I figure you’re the only one who can get through to him.”

Ever since the healers had cleared Ignis to move, he spent his days sitting in the Prince’s—well, King’s—room. Noctis was still asleep with no sign of waking up any time soon, but Iggy insisted on it. You’d begged him to rest, citing sleep as a necessity for his own healing, but he always found ways to shrug you off. It was futile. But you kept trying nonetheless. There just wasn’t an alternative.

“Ignis?” You stepped into the room, giving a courtesy glance over to the slumbering body in the bed. Noctis sometimes looked to be in pain while he slept, but today seemed to be one of the better ones, and he dozed with a peaceful face. Ignis was seated in the table at the far end of the room, idly playing with something between his fingers. His back stiffened as you closed the door behind yourself.

“Yes.”

He sounded rough. Tired. You couldn’t even imagine. You were still tired from the battle yourself, but you were lucky enough to get out of there with nothing but a broken arm. The losses tallied during the rite were devastating… no. You straightened your back before you could dwell, and before you could cry.

“I brought some stuff. To, uh, dress your wound?”

“Oh.” His face turned in an attempt to seek your voice and face you. You bit on your tongue as not to gasp on reflex when you saw the slick red scars peeking out from beneath the white gauze. Every time you thought you’d gotten used to it, your stomach turned, and you felt just as sick as you did the first time you saw him like this.

“How is everybody?” he asked faintly. You sat in front of him, placing the tray down onto the table carefully as not to make any unnecessary noise.

“You’re always thinking about others, huh.”

“I suppose. Old habits die hard.”

“Um… Noct is still sleeping, but I guess you already knew that.” You looked over as if he might stir, being talked about behind his back, but the lump of blankets remained motionless. “Gladio’s okay, but he’s on edge. As expected. Prom’s taking it a bit hard, but… y’know. We all are. But we’re coping.”

“Hm. And what about y—”

He flinched when you touched his cheek, jerking away from your hand as if you’d burnt him.

“Sorry.” You grimaced, having forgotten. “I should’ve said.”

“No, I… it’s fine.”

You gnawed on your lip before releasing it from between your teeth. Gladio was right—Ignis was the most perceptive one of the bunch. It wouldn’t do him any good for you to bring a bad mood on because you were accidentally being selfish.

“I’m going to change out your gauze now, okay?”

“Of course.”

Despite everything he’d been through, his sand-toned hair was immaculately combed into its usual style, and he still wore the dark fatigues of the Crownsguard instead of the lighter clothes the Altissians had provided. You figured it was his way of establishing to himself that everything was fine. As if it could be, when nothing would ever be the same again…

Nothing would ever be the same again. It still didn’t sound real. Gone were the days of jostling Gladio and Noct in the sides as you leant forwards, laughing at Ignis’ oh-too-careful driving. Stopping around at random sightseer spots to snap group photos for Prompto’s scrapbook. Sheltering in the rain at havens, slurping up cup noodles while Noctis dealt out cards. Wasn’t that just yesterday? Ignis’ green eyes—you barely remembered what they looked like, too nauseous to look through Prompto’s saved photos. You should’ve said so much. All those long hours in the Regalia, trundling along, or quiet restless nights—there was so much you could’ve done before this. So much wasted _time_.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted the tape off his skin as gently as possible, trying to touch him as little as you could.

“Judging by the awed silence, it’s not looking great.”

“Oh—sorry.”

His dry comment made you flush with embarrassment and you swallowed thickly, wondering if you should lie to him. But he’d see thr—er, he’d just know, straight away.

“It’s… the same as before.”

“I thought so.” He sighed softly. Although he didn’t say much more, you saw his shoulders slump with disappointment. “Carry on.”

You noticed him tucking something back into his coat as you dipped cotton into a healing potion. You recognized the item after processing it and felt your heart jitter. You’d been the one to give it to him, after all.

“You still have your recipe book on you?”

You tried your hardest to keep a conversation going. Ever since he’d been injured, Ignis wasn’t very easy to talk to anymore; not like he used to be. His responses were still polite, but curt, and he lost the will to play along or make jokes. It made things awkward, truth be told, but it wasn’t like you could just give in and let the silence pass.

“Yes, though it doesn’t do me much good,” he replied. You winced at the implication.

Shit. Bad topic? Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up at all. In a desperate plea to say something—anything—you stumbled over your words.

“That’s not true! It’ll be helpful for the rest of us. And you can always just tell one of us what to write when you get ideas. It’s not the end of the world.”

He remained quiet. You cursed yourself out, mentally this time. So much for being a good support. You envied Iris, who always bubbled over with positivity, even in the face of uncertainty—why couldn’t you be like that for him now in his time of need? It frustrated you so badly you couldn’t even figure out what to say next.

“‘Not the end of the world’,” he quoted in his honeyed drawl. He scoffed. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“Ignis…” You lowered the tray into your lap, staring down at the forceps. Your hand was shaking too badly to work.

“Allow me this,” he said all of the sudden, turning his face to you as if a sunflower guided by the star. “Allow me to apologize to you.”

“Why would you want to apologize to _me_?” you asked incredulously.

“I’ve failed you.”

He said it so simply that for a moment you trusted him implicitly and believed it. But you shook yourself free of the thought and exclaimed indignantly, “that’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?!” he roared suddenly, slamming his fist onto the table, knocking over the liquids you’d been balancing in vials. You jumped in your seat, freezing in place as glass clattered to the floor. “How am I meant to fill my duty? I can’t call myself the Royal Advisor when I’ve become a bloody _liability_!” He carded his hand through his hair roughly before his voice dropped to a tortured whisper. “The Oracle’s dead. The Empire runs free. The King’s out of sorts.” He turned his face away from you, and in the shadows you only saw him mouth it: _“and you…”_

“You were hurt,” you pleaded, scrambling for the words to transfer the emotions whirling around the cracks of your shattered heart like wind through the hollows of a canyon. The grief burnt like acid through your lungs, making it hard to speak. “It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“You couldn’t understand.”

“Because you won’t _let_ me.”

You regretted raising your voice immediately, flinching when you saw him recoil. But what else could you say? Ignis was the man that you… hurriedly, you swallowed the sentiment. You cared about him deeply. That much was enough reasoning.

“Please, just be done with it.” He shook his head tiredly. “I’ve had enough talk.”

“No!” you protested, equally angry. “See—this is the problem! You haven’t talked to me at all! You _never_ talk to me. How am I supposed to help you if you won’t just fucking _let me_ —”

“Because I don’t _want_ your help!” he shouted back, losing his composure yet again. He paused for a pained breath. “It’s—do you know how unbecoming it is of me? How shameful it is to be like _this_? Especially in front of you, and the others. Knowing that you’re seeing me like this… it’s pathetic.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ignis?”

“You must understand…” His eyelashes, pale, seemed to flutter as he groaned. For a moment you panicked, thinking he’d reopened a wound or something. But then he shook his head, expression wrought with anguish. “It’s in the heart of every man to want to protect the woman he loves.”

Your own failed midbeat in the centre of your chest.

“I’ve never said anything. You know why. We’re dutybound as the Crownsguard. If the day came when it was between you, or anybody, and Noct…” His voice fell a couple octaves with guilt, breathy and sad. “And yet, here I am. A burden to the lot of you.”

“How could you _ever_ call yourself a burden?” You reached forwards and cupped his head in both of your palms. His shaky breath tickled the fine hairs on your arm. “I feel the same about you, so—”

“I know you do,” he interrupted, almost brokenly. “It’s why I must ask you to please, forgive me. I never should’ve said anything.”

“I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be forgiving you for.” You leant closer to him, slowly touching your forehead to his where the skin was intact. You closed your own eyes, allowing the darkness to envelop you as you tuned into him through your touch and hearing. He smelt of the astringent tones of potions, but also painstakingly _familiar_ , deep behind it. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m… really happy that you told me.”

He was shivering, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him let on before. You slipped your hands back behind his head, soothingly weaving your fingers through his hair. Any other day he might’ve scolded you for disrupting his careful work, but today, he said nothing and allowed it.

You’d dreamt about this moment before, back sore in a hole-ridden sleeping bag on rocky havens. What it’d be like to confess. It wasn’t like you knew when it had happened—it’d just _happened_ , somewhere along the way. His kindness, wry humour, smart leadership, and dignified care… it would’ve been more shocking for you to have no feelings at all. But you’d never acted on your heart, knowing that you could never be important enough to occupy his life the way he occupied yours. He’d always been out of your league. It was probably a feat in of itself that you could call him your friend. Besides, with tragedy constantly hot on the group’s heels, you never exactly had the opportunity to deal with your trivial crush, letting it fester harmlessly instead. So, now that you’d heard it from his own mouth, you should’ve been rejoicing. You had never, not for a moment, thought you’d even have a _chance_ with him, much less hear him say the words to you first.

But it didn’t feel good. It didn’t even feel right. Your heart just ached more, weeping in your chest.

It hurts you. It hurts you to see him hurt. When he shuffles past you in a hallway, arm outstretched, unsure, it _hurts_. Seeing Prompto have to guide him along, his freckled face addled with concern and guilt rather than the usual goofy grin—it hurts. It’s almost like he’s a different person. He is, isn’t he? Ignis, strong and secure in everything he ever does—he’s gone. The man you’d fallen so hopelessly in love with is gone and left behind is this _echo_ , this ghost. It’s always angry. It resents his dependence. It’s not _him_ … but it is. And you know that you can’t abandon him. But you can barely even stand to look at him anymore because it hurts—you have never been in more pain over another’s, and it’s all because you love him so _fucking_ much that you just can’t stand it. If you could take it from him, you would in a heartbeat. Every day you wish it had been you.

“I’m sorry. I had a moment of weakness.” He stiffened up all of the sudden, brushing tears from his cheeks with the ends of his sleeves as he jerked away from you. You mopped your own up, sniffling quietly.

“Think we woke His Highness up?” you asked dryly.

“He sleeps through anything. I wouldn’t bet on it.”

You allowed yourself a moment to collect your thoughts, taking in a deep breath before continuing on seriously. “You know…” Your hand dropped to his, still clenched in a fist on the hardwood table. You spread your fingers around his, working his hand open. “You’re not weak.”

“I am,” he retorted self-deprecatingly. “There’s no need to lie to my face and say I’m not.”

“Things are just different now. You’ll have to adapt. But you’re not useless, so stop acting like you are. Gladio’s right.” You leant forwards urgently. “You have to get your shit together. Sitting around here moping over what’s gone isn’t going to help anybody. Didn’t you say it yourself?”

At your insistence, he obliged in a hoarse mumble: “one must always move forwards…”

“So. Move forwards. With me. _For_ me.” You released his hand abruptly, realizing that you’d been squeezing it tightly—only to have him grope blindly, fumbling to find you again. You spoke as he laced his fingers through yours, his hand so much larger. “Stop spouting all this bullshit about how you’ve become deadweight or something. If you wouldn’t say things like that about somebody like me, then why would you talk about yourself that way?”

“…would you really allow me it?” he whispered, head low. For a second, he sounded like a little boy, living the spoilt halcyon childhood he’d never had.

“Yes.” You lifted his hand and kissed the knuckles. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re gunning to.”

The familiar smirk flashed across his features, putting you at ease for a moment. “You know me all too well.”

“Okay. I’m going to redress your wound.”

“Thank you… my dear.”

For a moment he sounds like him again. And it is him, you know—it’s always been him. Even though it rips you apart to see him struggle like this, fighting tooth and nail just to live, it’s him. Even when it’s not, it’s him. It’d be nobody else.

Ignis Scientia, the man you love.

**Author's Note:**

> deltachye.tumblr.com


End file.
